


these things take forever

by ellievolia



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Canon Compliant, Coming Out, Fake/Pretend Relationship, First Time, Friends to Lovers, Friendship, M/M, Moving In Together
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-25
Updated: 2015-12-25
Packaged: 2018-05-09 08:42:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,032
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5532914
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ellievolia/pseuds/ellievolia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Reilly and Brandon move in together. Shenanigans ensue. </p>
<p>Featuring overbearing teammates and neighbors, the Florida sun, chocolate chip cookies, rock paper scissors, the beginning of a hockey season, surfboards, beer pong, a new apartment, dinner parties, bickering, and all these things that make a life. Not a common life, but their lives.</p>
            </blockquote>





	these things take forever

**Author's Note:**

  * For [thehandsoftime](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thehandsoftime/gifts).



> Hello thehandsoftime! Let me just say, I hope you enjoy this! I did my best! That is all. 
> 
> Thanks to all my alpha and beta readers for helping out. It was a good ride :D

“So, house or condo?”

Brandon kicks his feet up on his coffee table, raising an eyebrow at Reilly, who shrugs, dropping down into an armchair. He looks tired, which he always does after spending an extended period of time with his brothers. 

“Does it matter? Why can’t we stay here anyway?”

“Too small,” Brandon replies without missing a beat, because it is, he’s thought about it and this is his conclusion. They’re not going to start their first season in the NHL together stepping on each other’s toes. 

Reilly looks back at Brandon, and a smile slowly stretches up on his face. “It’s because the guest room here is actually your porn dungeon, isn’t it?”

Brandon grins right back. “Got me there, buddy.”

Reilly laughs, in a way that relieves Brandon - for a minute he thought Reilly would tell him he’s going to move into a place by himself, or maybe tell him that he’s not all that happy to have landed in Florida. Something like that. 

“Don’t really care, Piers.”

“Condo it is!” 

;;

Brandon is still awed by the fact that he’s playing on the same team as _Jaromir Jagr_. It’s weird, watching his childhood legend drink beer on the Mitchells’ lawn, in shorts and flip-flops just like Brandon is himself, the Florida heat sticking to their skin.

Willie insists on a barbecue before the start of camp, a reunion for the players to catch each other up on their summers, and Brandon watches as Jagr does his best back-slapping, open-hearted laugh at something Bolly is telling him. Reilly joins Brandon, clutching a beer in his hand. 

“Holy shit,” he breathes out, barely audible. 

“Yep. You better go and ask him to sign your boobs now, before he’s too drunk to remember how to write,” Brandon says, grinning sunnily at Reilly.

“You’re a dick,” Reilly replies, but he totally walks straight to Jagr and Jokinen, flipping Brandon off behind his back. Brandon laughs, wandering towards the barbecue and Thornton, explaining the art of burger flipping to Huby. Might as well get a laugh out of the night, he guesses. 

;;

“Hey kid,” Willie says, sitting by Brandon’s side, close enough to shoulder him lightly as he passes him a fresh, cold beer. “Haven’t seen much of you tonight. How are you?” 

“I’m good,” Brandon replies with a smile, bringing his beer to Willie’s, clicking the necks together. “Cheers.”

“I didn’t get to see much of your boy either, actually. Did he abandon you already?”

“He’s been hanging on to Jagr’s every word all night,” Brandon says, pointing at Reilly on the other side of the lawn. He’s not even going to try and dissuade anyone on the team from calling Reilly _his_. He feels like it’d be disingenuous. 

“Ah, of course,” WIllie says with a smile, resting his elbows on his knees. A moment passes. “Ready for camp?”

“As I’ll ever be.”

“Is Smitty?”

Brandon nods. “Yeah. Did Ek move out?”

Willie lets out a gruff noise, running his thumb under his nose, and Brandon grins. “Yeah, he has. Why, you wanna foist Smitty on me?”

“Nah, we’re good. You don’t need a new puppy.”

Willie laughs, clapping his own knee. “Don’t let Ek hear you said that, he’s a lot taller than you.”

;;

The real estate agent they meet up with is called Molly, and she’s all sunny smiles and warm handshakes when she greets them at the door of her agency. She’s a salesperson through and through, relentlessly positive even as Brandon and Reilly bicker over what exactly they’re looking for in a place to live; Reilly wants outdoors space for a possible dog and Brandon wants views. 

“Well, you can discuss it further but I’m happy to show you a few places we’ve got for rent that are in your price range, maybe that’ll help you settle it,” Molly says after Brandon explains the situation to her, Reilly sulky next to him. “There are also places that are conveniently close to parks.”

“What d’you think?” Reilly asks, sounding a little careful, his knee bouncing fast. Molly looks away like she wants to give them privacy or something, and Brandon rolls his eyes. They’re better friends than this.

“Sounds good, we’re never going to find something if we don’t start looking,” he replies, and looks at Molly. “Lead the way!” 

As they stand, Brandon bumps his shoulder against Reilly’s, earning himself a grin. 

;;

_”You’re taking Smitty in?”_ The message says when it pops up on Brandon’s phone, and he chuckles as he opens the conversation group on Whatsapp. 

“He’s acting like I’m not even in this group,” Reilly comments from the kitchen, talking around a spoonful of cereal. He’s sitting on the small kitchen island, his feet kicking against the wood. All three of them, Brandon, Reilly and Segs have been keeping in touch since their teenage years, when they played together. These days it’s nothing more than random discussions on Whatsapp from time to time, but it’s still good - he’s managed to stay close to Reilly through all these years, and he doesn’t want to think of Segs as just some acquaintance, either. Brandon’s always been willing to put some work in his friendships.

_”Yeah man. Jealous?”_ Brandon types, eliciting a laugh from the kitchen. 

_”I can’t believe you guys are gonna play together without me,”_ Segs sends back, like he’s bitter, and Brandon makes a disgusted noise while Reilly laughs harder.

_“You wanna get traded to the Panthers?”_ Reilly asks on the Whatsapp group, and Brandon rolls his eyes. 

“Stop acting like it’s the worst thing ever for you,” he shouts out at Reilly, who pokes his head out of the kitchen, milk dripping down his chin as he smiles cheekily at Brandon. He makes a kissy face before disappearing back into the kitchen, the noise of his bowl clanging into the sink so loud Brandon winces. 

_”Let’s just all do the ASG together”_ Segs replies, like that’s ever going to happen. 

;;

Brandon looks around the condo with pursed lips, trying to imagine a life in it and not quite managing. It’s big enough, spacious with big windows, but there’s something about the place that is soulless, and if Brandon is to have one year of living with Smitty, he doesn’t want it to be somewhere he doesn’t feel home. 

“You don’t like it,” Smitty says without missing a beat, just a look at Brandon’s face. 

“No. Do you?”

“It’s adequate,” Smitty says, shrugging. 

“We can find better,” Brandon replies, and Smitty nods. 

“Yeah, okay.” 

;;

“Shit, I love it,” Brandon exclaims as he takes in the big windows and bright views in front of them, the wooden floor smooth under his feet. This is his kind of place, with a gym on the ground floor and a pool in the back, the sound of kids laughing drifting from downstairs through the open windows. The condo is bare, with high-ceilings and clean walls, an open floor kitchen and enough depth that Brandon can already imagine where he’ll want to perch a projector instead of using a TV. 

“We have space for a ping-pong table, dude,” Reilly says as he slides in, his shoes left by the door. “And there’s a third bedroom!”

“Yeah, it’s excellent for a nursery,” Molly pipes up from behind them, the words sounding sugary sweet. Brandon blinks at Reilly, who bites his lip in return, obviously clamping down on a laugh. 

“Um,” Brandon says, “Sure?”

“The landlord would love a young family. The neighborhood is a very good one for schools, so if this is something you’re considering in the near future, I’ll let him know,” she adds, giving them a pointed look. Reilly takes a step forward, and Brandon looks at him for a second, the glint of determination in his eyes. Reilly is a lot of things, but he’s definitely not one to back down from a challenge. 

“This landlord wouldn’t consider renting to two single guys, would he?” Reilly asks.

“In such a residential neighborhood? I’d be surprised,” Molly says.

Brandon looks at Reilly again, who shrugs, moving close enough to Brandon to be able to sling an arm around his shoulders. “Good, good. We wouldn’t want to share a complex with frat boys, now, would we, Piers?”

Brandon rolls his shoulders under the weight of Reilly’s arm, putting on a bright smile, his camera-ready one. The way his stomach lurches a little has nothing to do with the burrito he had for lunch, that’s for sure. “Definitely not, it’s more than time for us to settle down,” he says, patting Reilly’s hand lightly. He and Reilly share a smile, and Molly lets out a little noise. “We really love this place, Molly.”

“Excellent! I’ll put in your paperwork right away!”

;;

Camp’s hard in a way it always is; Brandon’s got to work for his spot on the team, he knows that, and he’s not about to give up on it. So it’s tough, and it’s quiet for him; he focuses on proving his worth and his importance to the group. He’s skating and sweating a lot, and he’s having a good time doing it, he’s doing good. 

And there’s something to be said about having Smitty around, too. They only play on the same line for a couple of scrimmages, but there’s still the easy familiarity of seeing him on the ice again, having him by his side on the bench, stick taps and helmet pats. 

“You’re doing great, kid,” Bolly tells him an afternoon when they get off the ice after a shift, and Brandon grins, goes in for a fistbump. 

“Thanks, old man,” he replies, avoiding the swipe that comes immediately after, laughing heartily. 

After scrimmage, Reilly sits by Brandon’s stall heavily, sweaty and red in the face. before holding out his hand. Brandon lets out a chuckle, and holds out his hand too, the two of them bumping their fists before Reilly mutters, “One, two, three,” and they both choose rock, paper, or scissors. Brandon’s got rock, and Reilly pulls out paper. 

Brandon sighs. “Two out of three?” 

“Sure. Ready? One, two, three.”

Brandon’s scissors get smashed by Reilly’s rock. On the third - unnecessary - go, they both go for paper. Reilly grins, and holds out his foot. Brandon rolls his eyes but slides to the floor in front of Reilly anyway, grabbing him gently by the ankle and pulling his skate closer. He starts working on undoing Reilly’s skates to a low whistle coming from behind him. 

“Gonna do mine afterwards, boy?” Thorty asks from the other side of the room, jangling his skates at Brandon. 

“Hey now, he doesn’t get on his knees just for anyone,” Bjugs pipes up, grinning bright under his red blotched cheeks. Brandon doesn’t even reply, just gives him the finger and goes back to undoing Reilly’s skates laces, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. 

“I feel like they’re at a distinct advantage, we’re not allowed our significant others in the room to do this for us,” Thorty replies with a smirk. 

“Good to know that you’re still recycling the same old jokes, Thorty,” Reilly replies, deadpan. 

“Which reminds me, you know you’re a rebound, right, Brandon? He’s got a boy on every team,” Thorty replies without missing a beat, and Brandon cracks up laughing, just as he gets Reilly’s first skate off. 

“It’s okay, I was the original,” Brandon says without turning away from Reilly’s second skate, punching him lightly on the foot when Reilly wriggles his now-freed toes over Brandon’s knee. 

“Aw, young love,” Bjugs coos, which makes them all laugh. When Brandon looks up, though, Reilly’s eyes on him are impossibly fond, and Brandon grins at him, feeling himself blush.

;;

They move at the end of September, with a whole host of teammates helping out - it’s all Brandon’s stuff because Reilly’s is still in storage, waiting for him to find a place to put it in. They get Ek and Bjugs and Huby and Barky come to help with barely the need for a bribe of booze and food.

It’s a full day; it takes most of it to get everything transferred from one place to the other, and it takes a few hours to put boxes into the right rooms. After that, they sit in a messy pile of limbs on the couch and the floor and get their beer and pizza, all a bit drowsy in the heat. 

“Goddamn, it’s quiet,” Bjugs comments after a while, one of his ridiculously long legs wrapped over an arm of the couch as he sprawls half on Huby. 

“It’s a residential area,” Reilly says around a mouthful of pizza, words jumbled together. “It’s not that quiet, there’s a lot of kids.”

“Aw, no more partying at casa del Pirri?”

“I’m not surprised, they’re totally married and boring, haven’t you seen them at camp?” Bjugs says with a smirk.

“Fuck off,” Brandon says, without heat, from his laid down on the floor position. Reilly’s toes dig into his calf. Brandon smiles, pushing back against him a little, until Reilly’s foot just slides between Brandon’s legs and stays there, warm. “You’re just jealous.”

“Yeah, I totally need a work wife,” Bjugs says, sounding actually wistful about it. Huby scoffs, poking Bjugs in the head. 

“You can always campaign for Kyle to be called up,” Ek muses from the armchair where he’s lounging, with Barky at his feet, looking for all he’s worth like he’s sleeping. Ek jostles him when he reaches down for another beer, chuckling. 

“Man, I hope we’re not as sickening as those two,” Bjugs says, jerking his chin towards Brandon and Reilly. 

“I repeat, you’re just jealous.”

;;

“Oh, hi!” Brandon hears from behind him, and he jumps a little, dropping his keys as he turns around, taking in the tiny, pretty young woman in front of him, wearing what looks like yoga clothes and a massive smile. 

“Hi,” Brandon replies, finding his manners before going to retrieve his keys on their new welcome mat. 

“You’re new to the building, right?”

“Oh, yeah, we moved in last weekend. I’m Brandon,” he says, holding out his hand. The girl takes a step closer, grinning as she shakes his hand. 

“Fiona. I did think I saw a bunch of big dudes moving stuff around!” She says with a wink, and Brandon grins. 

“Yeah, just moved in with my boyfriend, Reilly,” he says without thinking, and then clamps his mouth shut, forcing another smile as his mind starts racing. Shit, why did he say that? 

“Oooh, I see! Well, you have to come for dinner soon. Friday, maybe? Paul - that’s my husband - is a great cook,” Fiona offers, with such a genuine, beautiful smile that Brandon doesn’t know if he’d be able to say no. 

“Well, I mean…” They don’t have a game this Friday, it’s still the pre-season, but if they do this, Brandon has to explain his stupid outburst about their non-relationship to Reilly, and shit, _shit_. 

“Oh, come on, I promise, we’re delightful hosts!” Fiona says. “It’s the neighborly thing to do, Brandon,” she adds with a wink, and Brandon laughs. 

“We wouldn’t want to not be neighborly,” Brandon agrees then, turning up the charm even if his stomach is clenching with worries. 

“Excellent! 8pm works?”

“Yeah, sure.”

“See you then, Brandon. Nice to meet you,” Fiona says as a goodbye, heading towards the elevator. 

“You too!” He replies helplessly, wondering how that’s not going to be a disaster. 

;;

“What the fuck, Piers?” Reilly asks, eyes wide, and Brandon shrugs, biting the inside of his lip. 

“You remember what Molly said when we looked at this place! The landlord doesn’t want single guys! They could have the same landlord as us!”

“You realize that it means we have to pretend we’re dating every time we see anyone in this building, now? As long as we live here, we basically have to. Bit more involved than a landlord who doesn’t live anywhere close.”

The thing is - Reilly doesn’t even seem mad. He’s red-cheeked and still sweating from the run he’s just back from, because Brandon couldn’t wait for him to shower before he burst out with hs earlier faux-pas, and obviously, Reilly’s not happy, but he doesn’t look angry, either. Confused, if anything. 

“I know, I fucked up,” Brandon says, then takes a deep breath. “I can cancel dinner, if you want.” He doesn’t want to, but he’s not going to say that out loud. 

Reilly shakes his head, dropping his earphones on the kitchen island. “Nah, don’t. Might as well go with it now,” he says, and when he looks at Brandon, he gives him this tiny smile, the corner of his mouth barely lifting. “You’re such a shithead.”

“Thanks!” Brandon says at Reilly’s retreating back, disappearing into the bathroom. 

;;

“Ready?” 

Reilly shrugs. “Do you think we look coupley enough?”

“According to everyone we know, yes,” Brandon replies with a smirk. “Also, what would you have us do? Wear matching jumpers? We can make out in their living-room if you want, that’ll sure hammer it home.” 

Reilly shakes his head, chuckling. “Man, you’re a dick.” 

“You love it, really,” Brandon says, knocking on Fiona and Paul’s door. There are some noises from inside, like something crashing and then some laughter, which makes both Brandon and Reilly smile, relaxing a little. Reilly pokes Brandon’s side, making him yelp and retaliate, poking Reilly right back, trying to fend off Reilly’s next attack. Reilly squeaks when Brandon gets him good, the two of them completely forgetting where they even are as they tussle, giggling like kids. 

“Why, hello!” Brandon hears Fiona says, unable to see her from being wrapped in Reilly’s arms and trying to make himself small enough that Reilly can’t reach his most ticklish spots, laughing helplessly. “Isn’t this cute,” she adds as both Reilly and Brandon straighten up, both of them sporting embarrassed blushes. 

“Um, hey, Fiona. Sorry about this.”

“Nonsense! Hi, I’m Fiona,” she says in answer to Brandon’s apology, holding out her hand to Reilly, who shakes it firmly with a smile. 

“Reilly.”

“Nice to meet you, Reilly. Come on, then, come on in! I’ll pour us some drinks, dinner will be ready soon.”

Fiona ushers them both inside, and introduces them to her husband Paul, an impressively tall Australian that looks like a lumberjack, towers at least a foot over his wife, and looks at her with such adoration it squeezes at Brandon’s insides; they look happy. 

They drink beer and talk about the neighborhood, the weather, what they do - Reilly supplies that they work in sport, but doesn't actually explain much further, and Brandon is relieved that neither Fiona nor Paul push for more detail. They eat roast chicken and potato salad, nothing fancy, but all well-cooked, well-seasoned, and delicious. It’s surprisingly relaxed, and Brandon finds himself really enjoying their neighbors’ company. 

“You’ll have to give me the recipe for this salad, Paul,” Brandon says, going for seconds. Reilly raises an eyebrow at him because the mayo is not on their list of ‘good foods’, but Brandon just sticks his tongue out at him in answer and takes some more salad. Reilly just laughs. 

“Are you the cook in the house then, Brandon?”

“Oh man, no, we’re both useless in the kitchen. We survive on a lot of takeout,” Brandon says, shaking his head. 

“Well, Piers makes an excellent chocolate chip cookie, actually, but I guess we couldn’t live on those,” Reilly adds, glancing at Brandon before turning over towards him more, “Oh, you’ve got -” he says, already reaching out and grabbing Brandon’s chin gently, his thumb swiping over Brandon’s lower lip. Brandon’s lips part on their own accord, taking a sudden sharp breath as Reilly looks at Brandon’s mouth, then into his eyes. He lets go of Brandon, but brings his thumb to his own mouth, licking it clean and making Brandon’s stomach drop to his shoes. “Mayo,” Reilly says, voice thick. 

It couldn’t have been more than a few seconds, a completely casual gesture for a couple, which they are pretending to be after all - neither Paul nor Fiona are looking at them strangely, it’s not _weird_ \- but Brandon still feels like time has stopped for the span of the heartbeat where he was looking at Reilly looking at his mouth, Reilly licking his thumb, Reilly’s eyes dark as hell. 

It’s possible that Brandon’s brain stops functioning then, because it’d be the only reason explaining what he does next, which is - he twists two fingers in the collar of Reilly’s shirt, pulls him in close, and kisses him. It’s brief, and chaste, but Brandon feels Reilly’s hand grab his leg, Reilly’s fingers digging in for a second. They pull away, looking at each other like they’re completely alone in the world. 

The cooing noise that escapes one of their hosts - honestly, Brandon isn’t sure which - makes Brandon blush right away, pulling back some more and looking back at Fiona and Paul. “Sorry,” he says, and Fiona laughs. 

“Don’t be silly,” she says, waving a dismissive hand. “Okay, who’s up for dessert?”

“Of course!” 

Reilly’s hand stays on Brandon’s thigh.

;;

“So…” Brandon starts, when they’re back in their own apartment, moonlight streaming through the window. He takes a seat on the couch, eyes following Reilly moving around, ending up in the chair. They haven’t turned the lights on. 

“Yeah.”

“Did you have a good time?”

“You kissed me,” Reilly says, cutting to the chase. Brandon can’t really tell what he’s thinking from his tone.

“Had to make it look real, I guess?” Brandon regrets saying that as soon as he does, because that wasn’t it. It wasn’t why he did it, he did it because he _wanted to_ , and the feeling of Reilly’s lips on his has since been like a phantom feeling that makes Brandon want to press his fingers to his own mouth all the time. 

But Reilly’s inscrutable, and Brandon doesn’t want to fuck everything up. It’s not just about him. 

“Right,” Reilly says, and Brandon tells himself it’s not a tinge of disappointment he hears in Reilly’s voice. “Okay. Well, I’m gonna go to bed.” 

And that’s that. 

;;

Brandon can’t stop thinking about the kiss, but - things are going well, and he’s not about to jeopardize the peace because, what? He’s horny? Or, possibly, he’s a little bit into Reilly? 

No. He’s not doing that. It’s not even like it’s _news_ , it’s just. He didn’t expect these feelings to emerge again. 

“Yo!” He hears from the entryway, and he walks over to see Reilly dragging two surfboards inside. 

“The fuck?” Brandon asks, and Reilly grins at him. Brandon didn’t notice the smattering of freckles over the bridge of Reilly’s nose before - it must be the amount of sunshine he’s getting now. 

“I thought we could learn to surf. Or, you know, it makes for cool decorations for the living-room doorway,” Reilly says, leaning the surfboards side by side against the wall. 

“What about hockey sticks?” 

Reilly raises an eyebrow. “Dude, we’re in _Florida_! We need to make the most of it, we spend enough time at the rink!” 

Brandon can admit that Reilly has a point. He’s not sure they’ll ever have the chance to learn how to surf, if they’re even allowed during the season, but the idea is appealing. “Do you want to go to the beach?” he asks, suddenly craving the feel of the sun on his skin. 

“Now?” 

“Yeah, now. I mean, I’d go alone, but I’d rather you came with me,” Brandon says without even thinking about it, because it’s the truth. Reilly grins toothily. 

“Yeah, okay.” 

;;

“Guys, I’m telling you, don’t get married,” Fiona sighs, leaning back into Brandon and Reilly’s couch, a tumbler of whiskey in her hand. “My god, he drives me crazy.”

Reilly smiles, kicking Brandon’s ankle lightly. They’re sat together in the two-seater and it’s a close fit, but Brandon doesn’t mind. He also doesn’t mind how Reilly has slid his calf between Brandon’s, all casual, making Brandon feel warm all over. 

“You think it’s any easier without the ring?”

Fiona sighs again, shrugging. “I don’t know, maybe not. Man, look at you. You’re so _cosy_. The honeymoon period is such a great time, enjoy it.”

“C’mon, it’s not that bad, is it?” Brandon asks, suddenly worried Fiona and Paul are headed towards a divorce and were just really good at hiding it. 

“Nah, it’s not. He’s just so….so infuriating sometimes, you know?”

Both Brandon and Reilly scoff in agreement, giving each other frowns right after. “Hey!” Brandon says, just as Reilly punches his arm, pouting. 

“Dick,” Brandon says, grabbing Reilly’s hand to stop him from punching again. 

Reilly laces their fingers together, making Brandon’s stomach flutter hard. “Asshole.”

Fiona puts her half-empty drink on the table, rolling her eyes as she smiles at them. “Yeah, all right, you two are no help. I’m gonna go call my sister before you start making out.”

;;

Hockey, it’s - hockey’s fucking fantastic, even if they don’t win all the time. They’re playing well, and they’re playing with heart, and when they fuck up, they give 150% more effort the next game. They’re so much potential there, and Brandon actually gets to play with Reilly, which is pretty amazing, and they’re doing great, their chemistry tangible. 

Brandon chuckles on an exhale as they tumble back on the bench, piling up next to each other, surrounded by Tro and Jagr, bumping shoulders after a pretty good shift. Reilly extends his glove for a fistbump, and Brandon goes for it, his other hand reaching up to pat the top of Reilly’s helmet. They look at each other, grinning, and Brandon feels himself holding on, his gloved hand around the back of Reilly’s head. For a moment, it feels like the world around them melts away, the rink disappearing in a haze of sunshine. 

There’s a shift change, and the jostling shakes Brandon is shaken out of his trance, blinking stupidly and pulling back right away. Shit, _shit_ , what the hell. Reilly gives him a weird look, head tilted. After a beat, he pulls out his gloves, reaching out to rub his hand across the back of his neck. 

Brandon looks away. 

 

;;

The life they live, the habits they start building around each other, it’s all fairly relaxed, chilled out. It’s like the weather clings to their way of life outside the rink, the sunshine dripping down into all the small pockets of free time they have, slowing things down and allowing them to spend more time appreciating the little things. 

Reilly starts going to yoga on Sunday mornings with Fiona whenever he’s free, while Brandon falls in love with the organic market that takes place on Saturday mornings just a block down. It’s the smells, the colors, and how different the people swarming it are from the people Brandon sees on a daily basis. It doesn’t replace their delivery of food, but sometimes he comes home with a fresh, still warm, baguette, and some homemade jam, or a pie that smells and tastes wonders. He makes friends with the people at the cheese stand, who always let him sample a new type every time he goes by. 

Brandon and Reilly both hang out with Fiona and Paul, who soon introduce them to some of the other young couples populating the building, having random dinner parties that should be stuffy and completely out of their comfort zone, but manage to be fun. Once, they end up at a barbecue, drunk on too many rum & cokes, lounging by the pool on an oversized, plush towel, Reilly’s fingers carding through Brandon’s hair, absent-mindedly, soothing Brandon to a completely loose state, hazy and comfortable. He looks at Reilly through heavy-lidded eyes when he pushes into the touch a little harder, like a cat drunk on sunshine, his smile all dopey, making Reilly chuckle at him, sounding fond.

There’s something about the whole faking it; they do it so naturally. Part of him feels bad about it, like he’s living a double life, putting on different roles whenever he’s at the rink or at home; friend, colleague and boyfriend, like they’re masks he can put on and off. It gets confusing after a while, Brandon forgets, and he finds himself reaching out for Reilly when they’re next to each other on the bench, only to stop himself midway, full of regret that he can’t actually do it. He forces himself to put a little bit of distance between them, almost relieved every time he’s put on a line without Smitty - it makes it easier to control just how much Brandon wants to keep Reilly close.

Brandon never thinks about it when they’re hanging out with one of their new building acquaintances, the way their hands will brush, the way they’ll smile at each other, tease each other about old, private jokes, or how, sometimes, one of them will pull the other in for a kiss. They’re always quick, often more cheek than full-on mouth, but they always make Brandon’s hairs stand up on end, make him want to grab Reilly and hold on, but Reilly - Reilly’s not given him any reason to think this is anything more than just playing along, to him, even if he’s a natural at it. 

It’s little things; they never talk about any of it when they’re alone, and the few times Brandon’s broached the subject, Reilly was quick to switch topics. It’s the way he pulls away too fast, sometimes, looking at Brandon with something Brandon can’t quite pinpoint in his eyes. It’s the way he catches Brandon’s eye when they’re at the rink sometimes, when Brandon’s trying his best not to look like a lovesick puppy, and he looks unsure, sometimes annoyed, even. 

They’re still always saying yes to more parties where they have to pretend some more, and every single time Brandon rests his hand on Reilly's leg, every time he leans in and closes his eyes, he wonders if it’ll be the time that Reilly will see right through him. Every time, he wonders if it is the time Reilly is going to know that Brandon wants this to be real, even when no one is looking.

And the thing is, Brandon desperately wants Reilly to be happy, for him to want to stay and enjoy himself. So he wonders just how much longer they can keep up the charade, keep on acting like the lines between reality and fiction aren’t blurred. It gets harder with every smile.   
;;

They end up watching the new _Terminator_ one afternoon on a day off, sprawled on the couch, all comfortable and half dozing. Reilly’s got his legs draped over Brandon’s lap as he tends to do, taking up all sorts of space and Brandon doesn’t even care, he’s warm and cozy and the movie is terrible in that way that is so easily watchable. 

They’re approaching the end battle when Brandon realizes that his hand moved, somewhat unconsciously, to the inside of Reilly’s pant leg, fingers idly running back and forth Reilly’s calf, rucking up Reilly’s jeans around his wrist. Brandon feels suddenly panicky, looking up at Reilly only to see him with his eyes mostly closed, looking all relaxed, arms crossed over his chest. But when Brandon stops moving his fingers, because he doesn’t know what else to do, he feels Reilly immediately tense against him, his eyes fluttering open. 

Brandon pulls his hand away, awkwardly, and scratches his throat, looking intently at the TV. Fuck, fuck, now there’s no way that Reilly hasn’t caught on, and Brandon’s made it weird, and _shit_. Damn it. 

“I’m, um. I’m gonna go take a nap,” he says, pushing Reilly’s legs off him gently. He’s pretty sure he sounds super panicked. 

“The movie’s not finished,” Reilly replies, digging his heels in the couch cushions Brandon was sitting on a second ago. He makes a small noise through his nose, like he’s disappointed, but Brandon refuses to read into it. Fuck, he’s made it so weird. 

“Eh, it’s okay,” Brandon says dismissively. “It’s not even good.”

“...Okay,” Reilly says, sounding perplexed. Brandon hightails it out of the living-room. 

;;

Brandon shouldn’t be surprised that it all comes to a head, but - he is. It’s a funny one, one of these days where the weather reflects moods, and it’s raining hard outside when Brandon makes it home, soaked even though the walk between his car and the building was barely seconds. 

Reilly’s in the living-room, playing CoD, but he throws Brandon a look when Brandon walks through the doorway. 

“All right?” Brandon asks, going to the kitchen to grab a bottle of water.

“Fiona dropped by earlier. She wants us to go on some kind of couple’s spa weekend, or something,” Reilly says with some bite, as Brandon pushes the fridge door closed. 

“Okay,” Brandon replies carefully; he can hear that Reilly isn’t quite done. 

“You realize we can’t, right?”

“I’m not fucking dumb, Smitty, of course we can’t.”

Reilly finally pauses his game, throwing his controller on the couch as he turns to look at Brandon. “No, but you really don’t get it, do you. I’m not even talking about our schedule, Piers. I’m talking about - about - _boundaries_.”

Brandon blinks, taken by surprise. There’s anger in Reillys words that Brandon didn’t expect, and he has no idea how to proceed, here. “What?”

“Does it not bother you that, for all intents and purposes, we are a couple to these people? I swear, you act like it’s the most natural thing to you, but then we never _talk_ about it.”

“And that’s _my_ fault?” Brandon asks, incredulous. Reilly’s gaze turns thunderous. 

“Well it’s not just mine!”

“What do you want me to say, Reilly?” Brandon feels himself growing flushed and definitely upset as he moves around their living-room, hands moving at his sides. “Want me to say I’d like it if it was real, that sometimes I _want_ it to be real so much I’m not sure it isn’t? Because you haven’t given me the impression you want me to say that, even if it’s the truth.”

“If it’s the truth, why do you act like you’re two completely different people, whether we’re here, or we’re at the rink?”

Brandon freezes mid-movement. He didn’t even think that the way he was acting at the rink would be an issue; he’s been so focused on how they were around Fiona and Paul and the rest of their neighbors that it didn’t even occur to him to worry about his behavior at the rink.

“I thought that was what you wanted. We did agree that we were just pretending!”

“I think you’re scared,” Reilly says, sounding harsher than Brandon is used to from him. 

“Excuse me?”

“You heard me. I think you’re scared of admitting you like me.”

Brandon’s eyes grow wide, disbelieving, because Reilly’s got no ground to stand on here. “Like you’re one to talk! You haven’t said shit to me about how _you_ feel,” he bites out. 

“I am, now,” Reilly says, chin up, eyes flashing.

“What more do you want from me, Smitty?” Brandon asks, angry. “You want to hold hands on the bench? Want to make out in the locker room? How does that help anything?”

“Now you’re just being an asshole on purpose,” Reilly says, eyes cast down, his mouth a thin line. He looks hurt, and Brandon can’t help but think, _goddamnit_.

“I’m serious, Reilly, what do you want? Do you want me to tell everyone I like you? You know it’s not - it’s not that easy.” 

The words stick to Brandon’s throat a little, because honestly, Brandon would. He’d do it, but he doesn’t even think that’s what Reilly’s asking of him. At this point, he’s not sure Reilly knows himself. 

“That’s not - for fuck sakes, I’m asking you to tell _me_ ,” Reilly groans, running a hand over his face. “I need some air,” he says after a moment where they just stand here, looking at each other. He stands up and goes for his keys, turning away from Brandon. 

“Reilly, there’s a thunderstorm outside.”

“Good,” Reilly says. The door slams behind him. 

;;

Thunderstorms never last. Life goes on, weather clears, sand dries. Reilly drives them to the beach the day after their fight, because they have plans with the guys; they don’t really talk on the way over, and when they stop at a Starbucks drive-thru, Reilly doesn’t even order an iced latte for Brandon, only one for himself. 

Huby waves them over when they get to the part of the beach they’d planned to meet; he’s alone, but Brandon can see heads bobbing in the ocean, recognizing Bjugs. 

“Yo!” Huby greets, and Brandon grins at him, slapping him on the shoulder. 

“Hey,” he says, shaking out his towel and spreading it out by Huby’s side. 

“Morning,” Reilly says, spreading his own towel further away, sitting down with his back to Brandon, waving at the three figures in the water. Huby raises an eyebrow at Brandon. 

“Everything all right?”

“Yeah,” Brandon and Reilly both say at the same time, not looking at each other. Huby bursts out laughing. 

“Oh my god, did you guys have a lover’s spat?” 

“Fuck off,” Reilly says, pulling at his Ray-Bans, and then at his shirt. “I’m going for a swim,” he says, jogging off and leaving Huby and Brandon alone. Shit. 

“Wow, you really did get into a fight,” Huby comments, and Brandon brings his knees up, wrapping his arms around them. “I didn’t think it was possible.”

“Why not?” Brandon asks, genuinely curious. He’s already sweating, his limbs sticking to one another; being in the water would feel good right now, a welcome change from the oppressing sun and humidity that’s making his hair curl even more than usual. 

“Because you’re so - in sync, or something. I don’t know, man, you just don’t seem the type of guys that’d get into fights that last longer than 15 minutes. I thought you’d talk it out, communicate, you know? Like married couples do.”

“Yeah, well, we’re _not_ married,” Brandon bites out, because isn’t it where it all lies, the unsaid things between Reilly and Brandon. Where they’re at, what they’re doing. 

Huby holds up a hand, placating. “Obviously,” he says, sounding unconvinced. 

Brandon ends up also going for a swim, because it beats having to talk. 

;;

Brandon doesn’t manage more than a day, and it sort of pisses him off that Huby would be so right about them. But one, they have a game coming up and they can’t be all out of whack for it, and two, he’s just - the whole silent treatment sucks, and he’s hurt by it. 

Still, he lies in bed for a couple of hours, sorting out his thoughts and what he wants to say, exactly, covers half-off and a leg dangling off the side of the bed. The A/C unit hums in the background; Brandon’s always liked his bedroom to be colder than the rest of the house. 

He doesn’t know how long he stays like this, before he finally gets out of bed and pads barefoot to Reilly’s room. He can hear music playing softly, so he doesn’t even bother with knocking, just opens the door and leans against the doorframe as Reilly’s eyes jump to his from where they were fixed on his laptop, pausing whatever he was watching. 

Reilly opens his mouth, but Brandon starts talking first. “I just - I want you to know that I do. Like you. As in, I _like_ you like you, and I was telling you the truth the other day when I said I’d like it if it was real.” 

Reilly slides his laptop off his legs, sitting up in bed, his eyes very dark in the dim room. “I’m not pretending anymore,” Reilly says, voice soft. 

Brandon takes a controlled breath, looking down at his hands, tangled together in front of him. “I understand, and I get it if you changed your mind, after yesterday. I started this whole thing with Fiona, so - I’ll tell her we broke up. And I mean, if you want me to move -”

“No, Piers, that’s not what I mean. I mean I’m - also into you, and I don’t want to pretend. I want this - us - to be a real thing.” Reilly sounds hopeful and careful at the same time, his words ringing loud in the room even though he said them so quietly. Reilly looks incredible like this, his hair sticking every which way and his cheeks tinted pink, lips parted and breathing quick, like he’s just taken a shift. He’s fucking beautiful. 

Brandon’s heart is hammering in his chest, but he can’t stop smiling, feeling a little giddy, even with all of their unknowns. He watches as Reilly gets out of bed and steps closer to him, Reilly’s eyes on their hands when he slides his fingers in between Brandon’s. 

“So you really like me, eh?” Reilly asks, sounding like he wants to make a joke out of it, but also like he wants Brandon to tell him again.

Brandon wraps his free hand in Reilly’s shirt, one of their practice ones, and pulls him a little closer, close enough to rest his forehead against Reilly’s. “Yeah, I do. I don’t want to pretend either, I want this when it’s just us, when we’re alone, and when we’re with our neighbors, and - with the team, too.”

Reilly chuckles, pulling back enough to look straight at Brandon, amusement written all over his features. “Oh, now you want to tell the team?”

Brandon opens his mouth, blushing hard as he tries to get his thoughts together, but Reilly laughs, defusing the tension.

“I’m just teasing, Piers. It doesn’t have to be, like, a big deal. No announcements needed. They already give us enough shit as it is. But you don’t have to keep your distance anymore.”

God, but Brandon wants to give Reilly everything he’s ever wanted when he looks at Brandon like that, with his eyes crinkled and his crooked smile and his big, big heart. Brandon’s fucking lucky. “Maybe telling someone might not be that bad. I think I might want to tell Willie.”

Reilly smiles. “Okay.” 

Brandon takes another breath, grinning back. He really wants to lean into Reilly and kiss him, dirty and slow and like he’s been wanting to do for weeks and been unable to. But he’s still got so much to sort through, and he’s pretty sure Reilly’s the same. They need to take their time with this. 

“Okay.” 

;;

Home is where you make it, Brandon thinks. He’s been feeling adrift for a while, not really belonging where he’d landed, in Chicago first and then in Sunrise, but now.

Now it feels like the first day of his life, and it is, to a certain extent; it’s the first day of his _real_ life. It’s a life where they’re just as competitive as always when they play video games and they still tease and mock each other mercilessly, but it’s also a life where they sleep in the same bed and tussle about who gets to be the big spoon, only to fall asleep in a messy pile, limbs tangled up. 

It’s Brandon’s life, in his new home in Florida. The whole place smells like the ocean, the clean laundry he’s currently sorting through and folding, and he’s playing an NHL game tomorrow, with great teammates and Reilly by his side. 

“Hey, need help?” Reilly pulls Brandon out of his reverie when he steps into their laundry room. 

“Sure,” Brandon replies, moving enough for Reilly to be able to reach into the basket of clean clothes. 

Their shoulders are touching, elbows brushing, and when their fingers tangle over a flannel shirt, they both look up, the air still and heavy around them, charged. Brandon is suddenly afraid to move, to shatter the moment, even as his eyes travel between Reilly’s and his mouth, lips parted, breath slow, controlled. 

In the end, it’s Reilly who moves first. Reilly moves _in_ , his free hand hesitantly skimming by Brandon’s hip as Reilly pulls him closer, and in the next breath they’re kissing. 

Brandon’s stomach flips, and he reaches up, fingers digging in the nape of Reilly’s neck as the kiss goes from slightly unsure to heated in a second, the second it took for Brandon to start responding to Reilly’s touch in earnest, pushing close. They’re discovering how it feels to do this without an audience, to do this for themselves, and it’s. It’s _wonderful_ , Brandon thinks, a shiver of pleasure skittering down his spine. 

His hand moves down Reilly’s back, over his soft _soft_ shirt, all used and threadbare, all the way down to his ass, feeling how Reilly’s sweatpants are pilling due to age and use - they’re one of his old Miami ones that he only wears on laundry days, and it feels good, comfortable, under Brandon’s palm. Reilly groans, muscles tensing under Brandon’s hand, kissing him harder, fingers twisting tight in Brandon’s shirt, pulling him closer by the hips, pushing them closer together and rocking against Brandon in a helpless, aborted move that makes Brandon moan. 

When Brandon tilts his head back moments later, Reilly kisses down his chin, throat, to nose by his collarbone, letting out a hungry sound, something a little raw about it, and Brandon clings to him, his hands framing Reilly’s face to pull him back into another kiss. 

For a long time, they stay right here, both of them hard, pushing and pulling at each other and reluctant to move, but the urgency ebbs away after a while, the kisses turning softer, quieter, more comfortable. 

“Jesus,” Reilly says after a while, when they’re more resting their foreheads against one another than kissing, staying close, fingers tangled by their sides. 

“If I’d known you’d be this distracting I wouldn’t have let you come in to help,” Brandon teases, grinning when Reilly laughs. He kisses Brandon again, close-mouthed and barely there, before pulling away. 

“I’ll go then. After all, the laundry won’t fold itself,” Reilly says, smacking Brandon’s ass playfully. 

Brandon throws a pair of boxers at his head. 

;;

They win their next game, at home, and damn if that doesn’t feel awesome, every time. They also have a day off, so of course they go drinking, in a bar with its feet in the sand and paper lights strung along the walls and outside, serving outrageous rum-based cocktails and cheap beer. It’s busy, and friendly, the music sounding like a mix of Compay Segundo and Otis Redding. 

It’s late November, but it still hot, like the summer is still trying to cling to the sand under Brandon’s bare feet, making his beer sweat in his hand. Not far, Smitty is dancing with a beautiful girl, surrounded by a bunch of their teammates, all trying to pretend they can shake their hips. Brandon twirls Tro for a laugh, delighted when it ends with Tro bowing at him, Bolly laughing behind them. Reilly winks at Brandon.

It’s kind of a perfect night; they won and they’re full of energy, excitement for the season just starting, and it’s early enough that they feel like anything’s possible - at this point, _anything’s possible_. So they celebrate, and they dance, their suit pants rolled up to their ankles, all of their shoes left in a pile under the table that some of the older guys have claimed. 

Brandon ends up walking closer to the ocean, his undone tie flapping over his shoulder. He looks back, the twinkling lights, the noises of the party going on. He hears Smitty laugh, and Brandon’s heart feels tight in his chest, like it was dislodged for a second; he’s so glad to have Smitty back, Smitty who was unbelievable during the game, scoring a goal and hugging Brandon after, tapping his helmet just like when they were teenagers, like no time had passed at all. It’s been _so easy_ , like riding a bike, and Brandon knows he owes a lot of that to Smitty, and the two of them just...not having to think about it. It feels so good. 

Willie’s standing by the water, letting the sea foam lick at his feet, and Brandon joins him, standing side by side to Willie, who gives him a look. “Oh, hey.”

“You all right?” Brandon asks, digging his feet deeper into the cold, wet sand. “Contemplating skinny dipping?”

“Fuck no, and don’t you dare, it’s too early in the season to get a cold. I’m fine, kiddo. You?”

“I’m good.” Brandon pushes his hands in his pockets. It feels like exactly the perfect time to tell Willie about - everything. It’ll feel good to be honest about it, to not have to lie or play a role with his captain, be able to give him 100%, without questions, be it on or off the ice. Brandon wants to be a part of this team for a long time, and he wants to be a leader. He has to act like one. 

Brandon looks down, feeling words on the tip of his tongue that he’s not sure he can actually say out loud. He wants to, especially to Willie, who wouldn’t judge - or so, Brandon hopes. His heart starts hammering in his chest, and he looks up at Willie, wondering if he’s going to throw up when he opens his mouth next. 

“Cap, I -” Brandon pauses, tasting the words before saying them. “I guess it’d be good if you knew that, um. I’m bisexual?” 

Willie’s eyes go wide, surprise etched on his features, but no anger, or disappointment. “Oh. Oh, right. I didn’t expect that,” he says with a gruff laugh, clapping Brandon’s shoulder. He seems to be taking a minute to compose himself, putting his thoughts together, and Brandon feels bad all of a sudden for telling him out of the blue like this. He could have tried to bring it up less bluntly.

After a beat, Willie scratches his throat, his face looking serious again. “But, okay, all right. One, you can trust that I consider this absolutely confidential and I won’t tell anyone. Two, thank you for telling me, and three, if you ever feel unsafe with anyone on the team, you have to let me know, okay?”

Brandon swallows, taking in the onslaught of words and trying to process them. After a while, he nods, letting out a slow breath. “Yeah, okay.” 

They fall back into silence, a little awkward, until Willie chuckles, squeezing Brandon’s shoulder again. “Way to spring this on a guy, huh?”

“I’m sorry, I just - it just came out -” Brandon’s about to continue when Willie bursts out laughing, and Brandon realizes his involuntary pun. He rolls his eyes, elbowing Willie in the side. “Dick.”

“Is it - because of Reilly? Do you love him? I mean, I’m sorry, it’s none of my business -”

Brandon looks at the ocean ahead of them, and shrugs, helpless and wistful at the same time. “I don’t remember a time where I didn’t.” 

;;

“Did you actually - _Piers_ ,” Reilly says, sounding taken aback as he steps into the kitchen, wearing nothing but a pair of boxers, all rumpled post-nap. “You made chocolate chip cookies.”

Brandon shrugs; he couldn’t sleep, and it’s no big deal. He’s been making them since he was a kid, the only thing he can reliably bake without ruining it. The fact that Reilly loves them only helps. He lets Reilly grab one, blowing on it before taking a large bite. 

“So good,” Reilly says, his mouth full. Brandon allows himself to grin, watching Reilly finish the cookie, looking greedily at the rest of the plate before his gaze turns to Brandon. “Thank you,” he says, stepping closer to Brandon. 

“What makes you think I baked them for you?” 

“Because you like making me happy,” Reilly says, softly. 

Brandon can tell that Reilly’s about to kiss him, but he leans back, just to be able to say, “Well, just so you know, I - I kinda told Willie. Like, about me - us, I guess.”

Reilly blinks in surprise, staying still for a few moments. He looks like he’s taking it in, like he’s a little shocked by Brandon’s admission, but then he smiles, pushing close to brush his nose against Brandon’s. 

Reilly finally says, “That’s good,” and he doesn’t let Brandon reply, kisses him instead, something filthy in the way he swipes his tongue over Brandon’s bottom lip. 

Reilly tastes like sugar and chocolate, and Brandon surges forward, kissing back hard, his mind still reeling that they’re doing this - there’s no pretending when it’s just the two of them. Brandon brings a hand up, framing the side of Reilly’s face, index finger tracing the outer shell of his ear, as the kiss grows somehow more sensual, slower and full of intent. He leans back against the kitchen island, Reilly’s fingers digging hard into Brandon’s hip. The touch makes Brandon shiver, and he moans as he tilts his head back, his stomach dropping when Reilly lets his lips linger against Brandon’s neck, and it feels desperate when he tugs at Brandon’s basketball shorts, letting them drop to the kitchen floor. 

“Shit, I -” Reilly says against Brandon’s collarbone. “Would you - sit up here?” he asks, not looking at Brandon. 

“Sure,” Brandon replies, not entirely sure what Reilly wants but entirely happy to follow his lead. It makes Brandon think - did Reilly do what Brandon did a few times in recent history? Did he jerk off in the dead of night, thinking about Brandon? Has he been thinking about fucking Brandon when they were lying in bed side by side? Brandon swallows hard, wondering about the thoughts in Reilly’s head, and he quickly hops up to sit on the kitchen island counter, wrapping his legs around Reilly’s middle, who presses close all over again, kissing the hinge of Brandon’s jaw. 

Brandon expects Reilly to kiss him again, but instead, he pushes a little at Brandon, making him sit further back. Then, he bends and licks a stripe along Brandon’s cock, through his underwear, his ridiculous, obscene lips dragging against Brandon’s erection. 

Brandon’s hips shoot up. “Jesus!” He exclaims, taken by surprise first, even if his brain catches up fast with what’s happening. He looks down, but Reilly’s not looking at him, his cheeks ruddy red as he kisses and licks Brandon through his boxers. “Shit, Smitty,” he says, running a hand down Reilly’s face to make him look up. “You -”

“ _Please_ ,” Reilly says, looking straight at Brandon. “Let me make you happy, too,” he adds, which is more - more _feelings_ than Brandon is used to, and it makes his heart thud in his chest. He licks his lips, nodding, and Reilly pulls at Brandon’s boxers. Brandon lifts his hips to help and Brandon goes right back to it, his lips closing around Brandon’s cock and making him shout out again, legs wrapping around Reilly’s back. 

God, it’s so good. It’s so good to have this - he gets to have Reilly, for real, and he gets to see Reilly like this, horny and demanding and all over Brandon like this, in the middle of the kitchen in broad daylight. Reilly’s sloppy and he likes to hum, sending vibrations right through Brandon’s body, like he wants to take him apart, take him to pieces. He’s focusing on it, sucking hard around Brandon’s cock and taking him as far as he can, two fingers buried in the hairs at the base of Brandon’s cock as he uses the rest to circle what his mouth can’t reach. Reilly’s movements are slow, not really controlled but definitely determined. 

Brandon’s not going to last if Reilly keeps on going this way. 

“Oh, Jesus Christ,” Brandon mutters, leaning back further, changing the angle just a little, moaning hard as Reilly just follows right through, his free hand running up under Brandon’s shirt, fingers twitching against Brandon’s nipples. Brandon tears his shirt off his body like it’s burning him, sweating like he’s been double-shifting for 60 minutes, goosebumps raising over his forearms. He allows his hips to twitch minutely, a tiny bit, and tilts his head back again, mouth dropping open on choked-off gasps as Reilly increases his rhythm, drags his hand down to the side of Brandon’s ass and back up again. 

“Shit, shit shit _shit_ Reilly I -”

Reilly pulls off and grabs Brandon’s arm, tugging him into a hard kiss as Brandon comes between the two of them, making small noises that Reilly swallows greedily, hand closed tight enough to hurt around Brandon’s bicep. Brandon pulls away reluctantly, shuffling forward and putting his hand on Reilly’s, over his own cock, and slowing down the movement, his breathing getting less erratic as he grinds them both to a halt, letting Reilly let go of him. “Can I - let me -”

Reilly nods, urgent. “Yeah, yeah,” and Brandon pushes his hand past Reilly’s underwear, the outline of his erection clearly visible, Reilly groans when Brandon takes a hold of him, moving close and tucking his head against the curve of Brandon’s neck, breathing damp against Brandon’s skin. He’s so hard, leaking precum that Brandon uses to jerk him off with one hand, the other wrapped around Reilly’s back, keeping him close. Reilly fucks his hand and kisses his collarbone and it’s so intimate that Brandon closes his eyes, buries his nose in Reilly’s hair as his cheeks flush.

Reilly comes loudly, all over Brandon’s hand and his boxers, his hips moving for a while as Brandon lets him ride it out, the two of them tangled up afterwards, filthy and sweaty with the sun bright in their eyes and a plate of cookies cooling on the other counter. Brandon blows out an amused breath, hugging Reilly with all his limbs, and Reilly laughs, kissing Brandon’s cheek. 

“So, a bed’s more comfortable, eh.”

“Let’s keep that in mind, for next time.” 

;;

“Just help yourself to the snacks, be right back!” Brandon yells at Fiona and Paul from the door as the doorbell goes again, more insistent. “Yeah, yeah!” he says, not expecting to open the door to a grinning group of Ek, Barky, and Huby. 

“Heyyyoooo!” Barky starts, pushing his way in, making it clear they’ve been drinking already. 

Ek follows, holding two cases of beer. “Great thing about never getting ID’ed,” he says with a grin, following Barky. 

Huby raises an eyebrow at Brandon, pointing at his glass. “Are you drinking _wine_?”

“What is - oh,” Reilly says from behind Brandon. Brandon turns to see Reilly, taking in their unexpected guests, with Fiona and Paul observing the scene, visibly amused. “Guys, we didn’t know you were coming.” 

“We were bored so we thought, hey, beer pong tournament!” Ek says, looking past Brandon’s shoulder. “Are you having a...dinner party?”

“Oh wow, you really are married,” Barky adds, going for a beer only for his hand to be batted away by Huby.

“Well, not yet,” Brandon says without thinking, earning himself a wink from Reilly.

“I can’t believe you’re having a dinner party without us,” Ek barrels on like he hasn’t heard Brandon speak. “Didn’t Willie tell you? I’m a really delightful dinner party guest!”

“Well, this is awkward,” Paul says from behind Reilly, sounding on the verge of a fit of laughter. 

“Um, these are our neighbors, Fiona and Paul,” Reilly finally says to his teammates, before turning to his neighbors, pointing at each in turn, “Sasha, Jon, and Aaron. We work together.” 

Brandon can’t help but feel a moment of panic at seeing the scene unfold in front of him, like, this is it, things coming to a head. But then Reilly puts his hand at the small of Brandon’s back, warm and reassuring, and fuck it, why not. It’s a good chance to live their lives honestly.

“Did I hear ‘beer pong tournament’?” Fiona asks, stepping up to stand next to Reilly. She points a finger at Ek, one eyebrow raised. “Because let me tell you, I’ll kick your asses at beer pong.” 

 

FIN -

**Author's Note:**

> Here's what I used as inspiration for the place they move into: http://www.zillow.com/homes/for_sale/Sunrise-FL/pmf,pf_pt/condo_type/82301441_zpid/54628_rid/150000-_price/558-_mp/featured_sort/26.221983,-80.125694,26.073745,-80.4673_rect/11_zm/?3col=true


End file.
